


Quiet Moments

by livvylive



Series: A Neverwinter Knight in Thedas' Inquisition [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Fluff, M/M, Massage, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvylive/pseuds/livvylive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two drabbles from a tumblr prompt meme. The first is about Cullen and Nevalle after the fall of Corypheus, the second is pure fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I almost lost you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt submitted by im-the-swamp-witch

Later, he was told that the earth itself shook and quaked when the giant rocks and floating ruins came plummeting to the ground. No matter how he pushed his own memories, Nevalle could never recall that shaking. He could never recall the landing of the floating castle at all. All that came to him, on the days he could remember almost all of that final battle with clarity, was the indescribable sensation of falling through the air with his back pressed to bare stone. Surely he’d slammed into the earth with enough force to shatter every bone in his body, but the fact that mere minutes later he was able to walk from the ruins on shaky legs to find nearly all of his companions waiting for him with their own unique expressions of nervousness proved that somehow he’d lived.

It was the mob afterward, and the Bull’s crushing hug, that had almost killed him.

The next hour or so was near chaos. Later in life, Nevalle only remembered snippets of it. They made it back to Skyhold, somehow, and there was something that looked very much like tears on the Seeker’s cheeks. The men, women, and children the Inquisition sheltered were waiting in the courtyard, forming a sea of humanity that seemed to buzz with life and shine with a hope that had been neither felt nor seen in far too long. He remembered the cheers that had erupted when he and his companions returned, and he remembered the pride, relief, and joy in the eyes of his ambassador and spymaster. And then, long after those other memories were gone, he remembered the love in Cullen’s eyes.

In the moment, however, Nevalle was all but overwhelmed by the cheers buffeting him from all angles. Exhaustion left his limbs weak and trembling, and only the sheer terror in his eyes at the prospect of extended socializing had convince Josephine to plan her party for the next day rather than host an impromptu feast on the spot. Eventually, after working his way through the crowds of celebrating civilians and sharing a few relieved words with his closes companions, Nevalle was able to slip past the door that led to his rooms. He dismissed the guards standing watch there, releasing them to celebrate with their loved ones. Anyone who wanted to hurt him could go ahead and try. Corypheus was already dead, so the worst that could happen would be freedom from the Orlesian nobles who would inevitably descend on him.

Climbing the stairs was more challenging than it should have been. The bone-deep ache in Nevalle’s legs flared with every step he took, and by the time he reached the top his thighs were burning. The only thing that sounded better than the warmth of the heavy blankets covering his bed was a bath, but he wasn’t about to make a servant deliver the washbasin and water when they could be celebrating. Besides, getting someone to help him would require going back down the stairs, and he was sure his legs would give out before he got halfway. They were trembling as it was.

For once in his life, Nevalle couldn’t be bothered to carefully clean and store his armor. Corypheus was dead, and any battles that remained for tomorrow could wait for him to take care of his mail and plate. Tired as he was, though, he still took care in undoing the straps and hooks and made sure to gently place each piece where it belonged. Shedding the weight was freeing, as if it was the last of the burden Corypheus had forced on Nevalle’s shoulders. The air of the room quickly dried the sweat on his clothes. A shiver ran through Nevalle as he stripped and exchanged the torn and bloodstained clothing for more comfortable things.

Only when all of the necessary changing was done did Nevalle allow himself to take a seat on the bed. It was built in a Ferelden design, sturdy and wide, and he’d come to love it. There were dogs, the mabari hounds Cullen was so fond of, carved into the legs. The blankets were thick and warm, and when Josephine had learned his favorite color she’d made sure they were done in shades of blue. It was the sort of bed that promised and delivered sleep to soothe even the most exhausted man. Or men, if he and Cullen had found a chance to spend the night together in Nevalle’s rooms. Those nights were rare, but Nevalle treasured them. Tonight, however, his thoughts couldn’t linger on even Cullen for long. He was lost satisfaction as he lowered himself to the bed, and couldn’t help but sigh as he felt himself sink into the mattress. Cold relief eased the burn in his muscles in the sweetest way.

Just before he worked up the will to hoist himself the rest of the way into the bed, he heard the downstairs door scrape against stone. The sounds of the crowds below echoed up the stairs for a moment, then faded once more as the door clicked shut.

Frowning slightly, Nevalle forced himself back to his feet. He had to swallow a groan as his legs immediately began to ache once more. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Nevalle’s frown immediately melted into a warm smile. Cullen’s voice, deep and sweet, always warmed Nev to his core. It was like a shot of whiskey. No, it was a mug of mead, sweet and strong enough to send tendrils of warmth through his veins. Finding it a little easier now to ignore the ache and burn in his legs, the weary knight crossed to the half wall by the stairs and leaned over to watch for his lover. “I thought you’d be busy with the soldiers,” he called down to the commander as he came into view.

One hand on the railing, Cullen was already looking up to Nevalle. His shoulders were taught and tension lined his handsome features. His gaze was warm, but there was something vulnerable in the tightness at the corners of his eyes. To Nev’s surprise, the other man didn’t speak until he reached the top of the stairs. When he did, his voice was ragged and weak. “I almost lost you.”

Those four words, spoken with such sincere fear, shook Nevalle to his core. He and Cullen had each made their own declarations of love before, in teasing tones and quiet, intimate whispers as they held each other close. This was another of those declarations, but it spoke to the fear that went hand-in-hand with love in times of war. What did one say in response to such a thing?

Nothing, Nevalle decided, opening his arms to Cullen. After a moment, the armored commander stepped into the embrace and hugged Nevalle in return. Cullen smelled like armor polish and sweat, and the sharp metal edges of his armor dug into Nevalle’s arms. The commander had yet to shave, and his stubble scraped Nevalle’s cheek. He shook with relief in Nevalle’s arms, and after a moment Nev could feel himself beginning to tremble as well. “I almost lost you,” Cullen whispered again.

“It’s over.” Nevalle’s reply was soft, but as he spoke he could feel the ever-present tension beginning to seep out of Cullen’s shoulders. “We did it, Cullen. We survived.”

It wasn’t happily ever after, but it was close enough.


	2. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts submitted by im-the-swamp-witch

“Cullen?” The sleepy voice echoing from the trapdoor that led to Cullen’s makeshift bedroom was just enough to distract the commander from his calculations. Quickly jotting down a set of numbers, he glanced up to see Nevalle blinking owlishly down at him. The Inquisitor’s blond hair was a mess, standing up at all angles, and there were lines on his face from one of Cullen’s pillows. “You said you were coming to bed.”

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Cullen’s reply was full of guilt. He _had_ said he would come to bed, and when he’d said it he’d meant he’d come to bed within the hour. Now, two hours later, the sky outside was already dark and he was still nowhere near completing the requisition forms he’d wanted finished before he slept. “I-” Maybe the forms could wait. No, they could _definitely_ wait. It was Cullen who didn’t like to wait on such things. But if Nevalle was waiting on him… “Maker,” he muttered under his breath as he eyed the stack of papers remaining. “I’ll be right up.” Apparently satisfied, Nevalle’s face disappeared from the trapdoor. Cullen could hear his footsteps through the thick wooden ceiling as the Inquisitor returned to their bed.

Ignoring the niggling guilt that always crept over him when he left business unfinished, Cullen quickly rose to his feet and stretched. A pained grimace distorted his expression as he straightened his arms and rolled his shoulders. He’d always carried his tension just between his shoulder blades, and now it felt as if someone had branded him there. Climbing the ladder to the next floor didn’t help.

Nevalle was waiting for him on the bed, Cullen saw when he popped through the trapdoor. Seeing his lover sitting there, shirtless and sleepy, made Cullen feel all the more tired. Taking a break had been the right choice. The candlelight played on the planes and angles of the man’s chest, throwing his scars and his well-defined muscles into sharp relief. Nevalle looked like one of the gods he’d told Cullen about, or a gift from the Maker left for Cullen to enjoy. “I’m sorry,” Cullen said as soon as Nevalle glanced his way. A slight groan interrupted his words as he crawled off the ladder and climbed to his feet. At least he’d had the good sense to change out of his armor and into a lighter shirt and breeches hours ago. “I got distracted by the-“

“-the requisitions.” Nevalle nodded. “The work’s never done. I understand.” The sympathy in his tone brought a smile to Cullen’s face. He’d heard story after story of the sort of work Nev had been tasked with as Captain of the Nine in Neverwinter. It wasn’t quite the same as running the Inquisition’s armies, but it was close enough that they’d shared many an ale commiserating with each other.

Biting his lip against the pain in his back, Cullen stripped off his shirt and folded it neatly. Once it was set on the dresser, he joined his lover on the bed with a relieved sigh. Stretching out on his back felt like a blessing. Nevallem stayed seated, but after a moment one of his hands found Cullen’s. “I think I need a new chair,” the commander commented idly. “There should be coin for it, now that the army is smaller.” Since Corypheus’ death, Cullen had allowed himself a little more luxury. The hole in his roof was finally patched, replaced by a trapdoor he could open when he wanted a cool breeze, and he’d had an extra dressed put in so Nevalle could keep some of his things in Cullen’s room. The place felt more like a home now.

“Your back again?” Nevalle guessed. He sounded less sleepy now, and guilt flickered through Cullen yet again as he prayed the Inquisitor wouldn’t have trouble falling asleep because of him.

“My back,” Cullen confirmed. “Which reminds me. How’s your knee?” The off and on pain in Nevalle’s knee had been worrying Cullen for some time. Privately he suspected the cause was deeper damage done by the fall of the floating ruins where Nevalle had fought Corypheus, but Nev himself refused to take the possibility of joint damage seriously. When it became a problem, he’d said, he’d deal with it then.

Sure enough, Cullen only received a shrug. “It’s fine today,” Nevalle replied, sliding his hand up Cullen’s arm. “I’m more worried about your back.” Cullen didn’t have to open his eyes to see the thoughtful frown that would be creasing Nevalle’s features. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

“A massage?” At that, Cullen _did_ open his eyes. It wasn’t a particularly unusual offer, but it wasn’t one Nevalle had made before. Something about the knight’s hesitation, however, struck Cullen as odd.

“A massage. It might help.” A soft blush colored Nevalle’s cheeks and brought a smile to Cullen’s face. “And I… I want to touch you. Not sex, just… I want to touch you. So a massage.”

The Inquisitor’s nervous fumbling made Cullen’s heart beat just a little more quickly. He’d always loved that the other man was as clumsy as he was when it came to matters of the heart. It had made him feel less out of place and immature as he’d pursued the man, and now that they were comfortable together it made things feel more real. “I’d like that,” he murmured, snagging Nevalle’s hands so he could brush his lips against the man’s knuckles. “If you’re up to it.”

Nevalle nodded, some of his embarrassment (and his blush) fading away. “Alright. On your stomach, love.”

Snagging a pillow to prop up his head, Cullen obediently rolled over. He wasn’t quite expecting the way Nevalle shifted on the bed and straddled his lower back, but the warm weight of the other man was surprisingly pleasant. The warm hands, calloused and strong, that landed on his shoulders were even more so. They started off slow and gentle, working out the lesser tension in his upper arms and sliding across his skin to his lower back. Everywhere Nevalle’s hands lingered, Cullen’s muscles were left filled with a liquid warmth. The Inquisitor wasn’t an expert masseuse, but his hands were steady as they explored Cullen’s back.

When he began working on the tighter knots in Cullen’s shoulders, a few sharp grunts of pain escaped the commander. Each time, the blessed hands stilled or retreated for a moment. When they returned they were more careful, but they never left a spot entirely until the knot was smoothed out and Cullen was able to relax that much more.

There was little the hands could do for the between Cullen’s shoulderblades. It wasn’t a knot, but the deep-set result of many aches and pains. As the other sore spots were slowly worked away, however, the deeper pain faded from a brand to a soft burn to an itching warmth just beneath the surface of his skin. The more Nevalle’s strong hands worked away the soreness and tension of a long day, the easier it became to ignore the pain.

Gradually, Cullen’s mind began to float away. Sleep pulled at his eyelids, stealing away his sight, and the warmth of Nevalle’s body and strong, perfect hands lulled him into a foggy state somewhere between dreaming and waking. Even he shifting of the over-stuffed mattress as Nevalle finished his work and stretched out beside Cullen wasn’t enough to wake him entirely. The words _I love you_ just barely reached his conscious mind through the fog, and a tired smile curved Cullen’s lips as he felt an arm wrap around him. That night, he slept without dreaming.


End file.
